


Russian Roulette

by xtricks



Series: Kink Bingo [5]
Category: Torchwood
Genre: Community: kink_bingo, Dark, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-29
Updated: 2012-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-30 07:54:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/329519
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xtricks/pseuds/xtricks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>comes after my story 'Falling'</p>
    </blockquote>





	Russian Roulette

**Author's Note:**

> comes after my story 'Falling'

There wasn't anything at all unusual about the late night - or early morning - as Ianto crossed the Plass, shoulders slumped with exhaustion. He'd nearly made it to the other side when he stopped, clenched his fists and then, with a sigh, turned back around. There wasn't anything he could do but he couldn't just ... leave. On impulse he took the garage entrance in, the one that didn't set off a dozen alarms when he keyed in an override he'd never quite gotten around to telling Jack he still had.

He worked in Torchwood, paranoia was a requirement.

The main level was as quiet as it ever got, the Rift monitor glowing softly at Tosh's old desk, the lights set to standby. There was a warm glow from Jack's office, reassuring as Ianto headed towards it. He had a momentary, ridiculous hope that he and Jack could ... maybe, just for tonight, forget everything and ... but Jack was spinning his Webley idly on his desk, chin propped on his fist, bullets scattered across the blotter. Ianto froze, watching as the pistol spun slowly to a halt. Jack picked it up, face expressionless, pressed it to his temple and pulled the trigger.

_click_

Ianto shouted and Jack jerked, looking at him through the glass, eyes wide. He'd made it to his feet by the time Ianto rushed in. "Give it to me!" Ianto roared.

"No!" Jack shouted, the moment of vulnerability that had given Ianto an equally brief moment of hope, vanishing. "Get out! Get out of here and leave me alone!"

"Why?" Ianto cried, clenching his fists and shaking at the sight of Jack's face, so fucking matter of fact. "So I can look forward to coming in tomorrow and scraping your brains off the walls?"

The look in Jack's eyes as he spoke made Ianto wish he'd just kept on walking. Made him wish he could just walk away from _all_ of it. From Jack. From Torchwood. Everything. 

Jack's expression changed, crafty and cruel over the same hopelessness Ianto had been watching for weeks now. "I thought you wanted to watch me suffer and die," Jack said, soft and sickeningly seductive.

"I've done enough of that," Ianto managed, voice thick, edging steadily closer. He leaned in, struggling to reach Jack, behind that painful smile and those empty eyes. "Jack, _Jack_ -" he said softly, desperately. "We've all done enough of that."

For a moment, something flickered in Jack's eyes, like a light too far to identify then Jack's face stiffened and he jerked back.

"I haven't," he snarled, lifting his gun, drawing the barrel to his face in a silent arc. "Not _nearly -"_

Ianto lunged forward, using tricks Jack had taught him, throwing him back against his desk hard enough to make it rock and Jack shout in pain. This was a close as he'd been to Jack in weeks - thighs and heaving chests, bared teeth and bruising hands. The Webley was pressed hard between them, Jack's knuckles digging into Ianto's belly as they cursed and twisted and fought. 

Ianto kicked Jack's shin, pinned his arm and panted into Jack's furious face. "Don't do this!" he begged, digging his fingers into muscle and flesh, feeling the tremor under his hand and unable to look away from Jack's wide eyes, the pain in them and the desperation. "Jack - just - just - don't."

"It's _my_ gun," Jack said, like a petulant child, and heaved. 

Ianto heaved back with a wordless cry of frustration, twisting Jack's wrist to pry the gun out of his hand. His grip slipped, so did Jack's, and the gun jabbed him in the stomach as the sound of the hammer hitting home _clicked_ softly in the room. They both froze.

This close, Ianto could see the way Jack's face went white, the blood draining away until even his lips were gray, his pupils blown wide and his expression slipping into horror as his hand slackened on the butt of the gun. Ianto closed his hand around it and stepped back, the metal cold and heavy in his grip. He spread his free hand across his belly, where the end of the gun had been digging into him a moment ago, when Jack had pulled the trigger. Jack's throat worked and, for a moment, Ianto was sure he was going to faint.

_"Ianto ...."_

"Would it have been enough suffering," Ianto said shakily, skin clammy with adrenaline as his pulse pounded hard under his skin. It was so familiar, the terror and rage - he'd lived with it for months, eating away at him while Lisa lay dying in a dank cellar. "If my number had come up just then?"

It was the wrong thing to say. Ianto realized as soon as he opened his mouth and still the words just tumbled out, driven by the knowledge that Jack had nearly killed him, by the fact he didn't know what to do, how to help. If it was even _possible_ to help Jack anymore.

Jack stumbled back, shaking his head, eyes fixed on Ianto though he wasn't sure he was seeing anything. He knew if he let Jack get away now there'd never be another chance. Ianto stepped forward to grab Jack, holding on. Not letting go.

Jack was shaking all over, tremors Ianto could feel against his own body. This was the most open, the most available, Jack had been in so long. Terrified to the point he couldn't speak, suicidal - and unable to die - and this was the chance Ianto had?

"No, no, no, not you, not you - " Jack said faintly. "I can't -"

"What Jack?"

"I didn't meant to, I'd never ... n-never - I didn't want - none of this, not _this."_ Jack burst out, arching away from Ianto, trapped between him and the desk and Ianto leaned on him to hold him still. "I have to suffer, I deserve to suffer. But it's never _enough."_

Jack's gaze focused on Ianto for a moment, the look in them gave Ianto chills. What could anyone do if Jack truly, really, went mad? 

"You said you'd watch me suffer and die," Jack whispered and this time it wasn't mocking, it was desperate. "You _promised."_

Ianto's breath caught as he swallowed down ... a sob, a shout - he didn't know and, god, wasn't this Torchwood after all? They'd all been brought to this. He leaned harder against Jack, sliding a hand up to grip his jaw and firmed his voice along with his touch and hiding the despair in both. "I can make you suffer."

Jack shut his eyes with a sound of relief.

It was easier when Ianto didn't have to look in his eyes so he made Jack turn around. "Take down your pants," he said. That was familiar enough, simple, and they were both used to hiding behind sex. Except Ianto didn't think he could get hard if someone had a gun to his head. Everything reminded him of that night in the alley - down to the sick resentment and fear he was feeling - and the things they'd done then.

Jack dropped his trousers, belt clanking on the floor and leaned forward to brace his hands on the desk, as familiar as Ianto with the gesture. When Ianto touched his arse gently, Jack tensed, twisting to glare wide-eyed over his shoulder.

_"Hurt_ me, dammit!"

"Don't tell me what to do," Ianto snapped back reflexively. He felt cornered, unable to leave, not at all sure he knew what he was doing. He blinked when Jack dipped his head, shoulders slumping, the shift of his hips ... strangely obedient. Jack didn't do obedient but it wasn't a game, not like it used to be, and Ianto spread has hand across the warm curve of Jack's arse, holding his breath. Damn him if he was going to brutalize Jack, no matter how much he wanted it and, damn it, Ianto knew very well if he didn't give Jack what he needed, he'd find him at his desk again, tomorrow, with his gun. Or worse.

Ianto still had Jack's gun and he still remembered the moment when he'd been sure Jack had blown a hole in his stomach with it. He pressed the thumb catch home, finally engaging the safety, gaze drawn to the pliant curve of Jack's arse again, wondering.

His hands were steady, even if he felt like he was falling apart inside, as Ianto fumbled for the sachet of lube in his pocket. When he slid slick fingers between Jack's cheeks, he shifted and jerked and Ianto pressed the Webley to the base of Jack's spine, the end of the barrel dimpling his skin. "Hold still," he muttered, twisting his fingers roughly. "Hold still, dammit, Jack."

Jack groaned, back arching, jamming the gun harder to his skin. Ianto pressed harder in response, breath catching. He knew what he was going to do, now.

Ianto drew the end of the gun down, a dreadful caress, nestling the tip just at the top of Jack's crease. When Jack whimpered, Ianto exhaled shakily, swept with relief. It didn't matter how wrong this was ... it was the right thing to do. He shifted his sweaty grip so his finger wasn't on the trigger, gripping the haft instead.

"I'll make you suffer," Ianto whispered, teasing the gun lower. Jack arched with a groan and Ianto wondered if he was hard, if this excited him ... he couldn't see, he didn't know. It didn't really matter, this fuck wasn't for pleasure.

Jack took good care of his favorite gun, the steel was old but polished; dark gray, gleaming under a patina of use and decades of gun oil. Against the warm curves of Jack's arse, the pretty dimples, the crease parting around the barrel, it looked ... good. It was Jack giving it up to him like he never had before. Ianto swallowed, unwillingly turned on. This wasn't just for Jack and he didn't know if hated or loved that fact. He eased the gun lower, guiding it with a finger until he felt the slick hole and rocked the tip against Jack there.

"I'll hurt you, Jack," he whispered, pressing carefully. There was a moment of resistance then ... the slide in, cold metal disappearing slowly inside Jack. "I will."

Jack pushed back, moaning shakily, scattering papers as he struggled to brace himself against the desk and Ianto knew he was excited after all, as the gun slid deeper inside.

"I'll make you scream," Ianto said, leaning close to press his nose to Jack's hair, breathing in the smell of him and closing his eyes against tears. "I'll make you crawl."

_"Ianto, Ianto, please, Ianto ...."_ Jack was whispering, panting his name and begging. For this. For more. Ianto gave him more, pushing the gun in until the trigger guard was nestled against his arse and the barrel buried deep. _"Help me."_

"I'll help you, Jack," he promised, voice breaking. He fucked the gun into Jack, as gently as he could.

"You'll hurt," he swore, breathing hard against Jack's shirt, panting in the smell of him, familiar, warm ... it used to safe and was anything but now. He rocked the gun and Jack whined. "You'll beg me to stop and I won't."

Jack was shaking. Ianto hugged him with his free arm, holding him steady, working the gun in him like he used to work his cock, feeling Jack flex and roll against the rhythm.

"I'll do terrible things to you, Jack. You'll suffer - so much - so terribly - " Ianto struggled to catch his breath, he was hard now, aching and he'd make Jack grovel and he'd make him cry and he'd make him do _everything._ Every dreadful thing Ianto had ever dreamed of.

Jack was panting in his arms, straining to buck against the gun, so that Ianto had to splay his hand against his arse to keep him from fucking too hard against the dangerous metal. His profile was sweat slick and flushed, mouth sagging open, eyes closed. Lost. Beautiful. _His._ Ianto tightened his grip and pushed the gun in.

"You'll suffer," Ianto pressed close, fucked him, the slick barrel of the gun sliding easily in and out. "You'll suffer until _I_ say it's _enough."_

Jack shouted, straining into orgasm, jerking wildly against Ianto's grip. Ianto hung on desperately as Jack's knees buckled and his cry turned into a bellow of pain, then he broke into sobs. Ianto clutched him, pressing Jack's face to his shoulder as they both sprawled clumsily over the desk. He slid the gun free, wincing as Jack groaned and shuddered.

Jack cried like an animal, howling, raw and brutal and Ianto could only hold on as he buckled down, he held on because that was what he did. He held on no matter what.

Eventually, he was able to coax Jack to the couch and let him sprawl there, pants still around his knees. The relief on Jack's face, in the line of his body was ... was the reward Ianto needed for what he'd just done. He felt a little dazed himself, relief like a high. Jack's eyes were closed, his face slack and exhausted looking, wrung out with grief and blotchy from crying. But he alive and present and not crazy. Not any worse than Ianto felt, erect and frightened, nerves buzzing with the memory of the gun in his hand and Jack's abandoned surrender to it.

Ianto unclenched his cramped hand from around the gun, catching sight of blood on the barrel with a surge of nausea. "Jack," he breathed, voice thing with worry. Jack's eyes flicked open, dark and weirdly content. "You're ... you're bleeding. H-how badly?"

Jack shifted, reaching back to press his fingertips to his arse, they came back smudged with blood. "Not bad, s'okay, Ianto." He met Ianto's gaze with a smile, slumping back down on the couch. It was impossible to believe him, not when Ianto was here because Jack had been playing Russian roulette half an hour ago. Ianto numbly opened the cartridge and saw the single bullet sitting right in the chamber. They'd been one accidental tug of the trigger away from killing each other. He tipped the gun and let the bullet tumble free, plinking across the floor to roll under the desk.

"Let me ... let me ... clean up." Ianto stammered and struggled to his feet then fled the office. Outside, he stumbled to a halt, sinking to his knees beside Tosh's old desk and fumbling frantically for the bin. He retched into it as quietly as he could, tears streaming down his face, gut spamsing in revulsion. 

He wiped his face on his sleeve and searched like automaton for some anti-biotic cream, the first aid kit familiar in his hands as he returned to the office. Jack hadn't moved, half naked, he lax and drowsy and Ianto paused in the doorway to just ... look at him. Ianto couldn't deny, at the sight of Jack so easy in his skin now, that it was worth it. The gun was on the floor, a little bloody in silent accusation, and it was still worth it.

"Let me see," he said quietly and Jack rolled onto his belly, letting Ianto spread his cheeks and look, frightened at what he'd find. The bit of blood on Jack's hole was bright but sparse. Ianto squeezed some cream onto a finger and eased it in, biting his lip. Jack sighed, pressing his face against his folded arms, back heaving then settling. It was weirdly intimate to take care of him now and Ianto felt tired, worn out, tender himself as Jack shivered under his touch.

"It's not bad," Jack said after a moment, voice gravelly. "I think ... when I came the sight cut me a little. It's all right. Ianto, it's all right."

Ianto shut his eyes and pressed his lips to the warm, living curve of Jack's flesh, even as he pressed his finger to the wound he'd dealt. "It's not, Jack. It's not all right at all."

**Author's Note:**

> kink bingo square: gunplay


End file.
